


In The Morning, You are Gone

by wbss21



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ash Lynx Needs A Hug, Ash Lynx hooks, Canon-complient, Gang Rape, Hurt Ash Lynx, Pre-Canon, Protective Shorter Wong, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: It’s just past three in the morning, and someone is knocking on the restaurants back door, Shorter realizes, blinking blearily at the clock, sitting on the surface of the beat-up old chest of drawers he uses as a nightstand.Who the fuck was knocking on the door to a restaurant at three in the morning?
Comments: 14
Kudos: 167





	In The Morning, You are Gone

It’s just past three in the morning, and someone is knocking on the restaurants back door, Shorter realizes, blinking blearily at the clock, sitting on the surface of the beat-up old chest of drawers he uses as a nightstand.

Who the fuck was knocking on the door to a restaurant at three in the morning?

A shot of something like fear lances through his chest, and the exhaustion which had a moment ago been threatening to pull him back into sleep dissipates instantly as he rockets up from the mattress beneath him, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing.

More likely than not, it was a rival gang coming to settle some beef. Maybe those Irish bastards they’d been getting into it with lately. Maybe Arthur and his crew. It could be any of ‘em. 

Shorter can’t let Nadia answer the door, he thinks almost frantically. He stumbles over something on the floor, barely managing to keep his footing and taking up his gun from the same chest of drawers, lunging for the door to his room and pulling it open.

Nadia’s own door comes open at the same time, just down the hall from his, and he sees her wander out into the hallway, a look of sleep heavy confusion in her eyes.

“… Shorter, what…?”

“Go back into your room Nadia. I’ll handle this.” He tells her sharply, keeping his voice low. 

She blinks at him, and a moment later, her gaze drops to the gun in his hand, her face visibly paling.

“Shorter?” Her voice trembles, and Shorter’s jaw tightens, shaking his head.

“I’ll handle it. Just stay put and don’t make a sound.”

His older sister hesitates, clearly unhappy with the situation, but finally she backs away, disappearing again into her room. She doesn’t close the door completely, but Shorter doesn’t plan on letting anyone up here anyway. Whoever it is, they ain’t getting up here.

This was some grade A bullshit though, he thinks, as he makes his way down the stairs as quietly as he’s able, down into the kitchen, gun held at the ready.

He always did his best to keep his gang life separate from Nadia and the restaurant. That was the code between youth gangs. You didn’t go after no one’s family. That was the code. Whoever the hell it was down there, if they were planning on hurting his sister, they were gonna pay the fucking price, along with whoever the fuck was with them on it. 

‘Course, if it was a rival gang trying to start some shit, announcing their presence by knocking on a door didn’t seem like the brightest course of action. And with that thought, Shorter realizes, as he reaches the stairs landing, that there hasn’t been any more knocking for the past minute or so.

Maybe whoever it was thought better of it and went the fuck away.

Shorter can only hope.

He tries to make his steps as silent as possible as he weaves through the kitchen, sticking to the walls as he makes his way to the back entrance.

Holding his gun at his shoulder, he sucks in a deep breath, holding it as he presses himself to the wall by the door, and slowly he leans over, reaching up with his free hand to tug carefully at the blinds covering the window. 

He peeks out to the back stoop, and sees, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and face pressed against their tops, huddled against the door, a young kid. From the size of him, can’t be more than 13 or 14, probably, Shorter thinks. He can’t see his face, but in the glow of the porch light, he can make out his shock of light blond hair.

He knows who it is.

He lets go of the breath he’d been holding, lowering his gun, stuffing into the waistband of his pants as relief washes through him, the tension he felt replaced only by confusion.

What the hell was Ash doing here at 3 AM?

He steps to the door, undoing the lock and pulling it open.

Ash scrambles to his feet, turning, eyes wide.

Shorter blinks down at him.

Jesus… the kid looked like fucking shit.

Shorter had only known Ash a few months, counting their time in Juvie together. They’d started hanging out on the regular though since Shorter had gotten out, Ash following a few months after, and he was starting to really love the kid.

Ash was kind of fucking incredible.

He was also a study in contradiction.

Of course, it’d been that way from the day he first met the kid.

The first thing anyone noticed about him was his face, of course.

Little 14 year old kid, and he was fucking beautiful. Like, really, seriously beautiful. Pale skin, hair that was like sunlight, eyes so vividly green it was shocking to look at their color.

Shorter remembers, and he still thinks this whenever he looks at Ash, that, if angels were real, that must be what they look like. Like this 14 year old kid. And Shorter wasn’t queer, or nothin’ like that. It was just an objective fact.

Ash was the best looking person Shorter had ever seen, guy or girl.

‘Course, you talked to Ash then, and the next thing you realized about him was he was smart. Like, fucking wicked smart. It didn’t make no sense, Shorter thought at first. Beautiful face like that, and nature was supposed to balance it out in some kind of way. Make you dumb or something to give the rest of the average joes a chance.

But Ash did shit like calculus in his head. Worked out all these complex problems and equations in seconds without needing to write anything down even. Those kinda problems that had shit like mass and density and volume and whatever the hell else involved. Shorter has no fucking idea how he does it, but he does, like it’s as easy as breathing. Could add and subtract and multiple and divide shit faster than any calculator ever could.

Then there was how much Ash had read. Seemed like that kid had read every fucking book in the world. All this high-falutin literature and shit. Kid had all these textbooks too. Read ‘em it seemed like for _fun_. Shorter still doesn’t get that one. 

But not just that. The kid read _fast_. It was like he could get through a whole 400 page book a day or some shit. And he wasn’t skipping over it like some people. He could quote shit back to you line for line, if you asked him. Shorter had done that with him, just to see. Asked him to tell him what it said on some random page from some book he’d read, and Ash would repeat it word for word. Like literally, exactly what was written on the page.

It was scary.

But then with all that, well, you’d think no way’s this kid got what it takes to survive on the streets. Smart, beautiful kid, he’d get eatin’ alive out there for sure. Gotta be a soft touch.

But nope. Ash was tough as fucking nails. People thought on account of his looks he had to be some kinda pushover. But that was the first and last mistake you made with this kid. He’d fuck you up three ways to Sunday if you messed with him. 

Once you got to know the kid, there was an intensity to him that left even Shorter freaked out. Just this seriousness in his eyes that was intimidating as hell. Like he could look at you and see everything. Everything about you. Scary.

He doesn’t look so scary now though, Shorter thinks, confused and with a growing sense of alarm.

Ash was dressed in a hoodie that was way too fucking big for him. The kid was practically swimming in it. His jeans were threadbare and torn at the knees, and Shorter didn’t miss the bloody scraps peeking through the holes. It looked painful. Like Ash must have fallen and scrapped his knees against the pavement.

Worse looking was the kid’s face.

He was beat all to hell.

Both eyes black and blue, dried blood caked around both nostrils of his nose, lip split wide and fat, dried with more blood. There was an angry red abrasion against his left cheekbone and a nasty looking scrap along his forehead, disappearing up into his hair line. The way Ash’s arm came up around his ribs didn’t look too good either.

Worst of all, maybe, was that the kid wasn’t wearing any shoes, and Shorter’s eyes widen as he takes in the state of Ash’s bare feet, bloody and torn to shreds as though he’d run several miles like that.

Ash is looking up at him, and he looks fucking scared, and Shorter’s never seen Ash look like that before. Not really. His eyes are wide and glassy, red around the edges, and he’s been crying, Shorter thinks, shocked. 

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do. And then his brain seems to kick back into gear.

“… Get in here.” He says, reaching out.

Ash flinches back, but Shorter ignores it, grabbing hold of the kid’s hand and tugging him inside the restaurant, closing the door softly behind them and locking it.

When he turns back around, Ash is standing there, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, arm still wrapped across his ribs. He looks shrunken in on himself, his face turned to the floor, and Shorter is struck suddenly by how _young_ he is.

Jeeze, he’s just a kid, he thinks. Somehow, he’d never thought of Ash that way. He guesses ‘cause the kid was so sure of himself most of the time. Because he was so scary smart and capable at so many things. 

“Hey,” Shorter starts, keeping his voice soft. 

Ash’s eyes flit up to him, and not for the first time is Shorter struck by the shocking color of them, a brilliant green so pure they at moments looked translucent.

For once though, Shorter isn’t distracted by the kid’s beautiful face. All he sees now is a little boy. He’s suddenly all too aware of how small Ash is. He’s a good six or seven inches shorter than Shorter himself, and skinny to the point of frailty, painfully thin, even sickly looking.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”

He nods his head back towards the stairs, leading up to the apartment, taking the lead as he moves around Ash. He decides against taking Ash by the hand, something telling him it’s best to let the kid follow on his own.

Halfway up the staircase, he hears the footsteps following behind stop. He turns, seeing Ash halfway down the steps still, clinging to the railing with one hand so tightly his knuckles are turning white. A thick sheen of sweat stands out along his forehead.

“Yo, Ash…”

“I’m sorry.” Ash’s voice drifts up to him, small and rough sounding. “I’m sorry Shorter. I… I should go. I shouldn’t have bothered you like this. I’m sorry…”

Shorter sees it when Ash’s eyes roll suddenly back up into his skull. As his knees give out under him.

He still isn’t fast enough to react when Ash falls backwards, down the stairs.

“ASH!”

The kid crashes hard, the loud thwack of his body slamming against the edge of the steps echoing through the kitchen, twisting something horrified in Shorter’s chest. He stands frozen as he watches his friend tumble until he at last comes to a stop on the landing, sprawled out on his back, limbs twisted in an awkward jumble.

“Fuck!” Shorter breathes, snapping into action finally as he practically throws himself down the steps. “Ash, Jesus man!”

He reaches the younger boy, a wave of relief washing through him as he sees Ash blinking blearily up at the ceiling, dazed, but not _dead_ at least.

“Ash, man, are you alright?” Shorter kneels beside him, reaching out with careful hands. “Did you hit your head?”

“… I dunno…” Ash answers, his voice slurring slightly. “The room’s spinnin’…”

“Fuck. Shit. Okay. Okay, look, I’m gonna carry you upstairs, alright? Is that alright? Can I pick you up?”

Ash’s eyes move to him, and Shorter can see they’re still unfocused.

“… I can walk.” Ash slurs again. “Jus’ give me a s-second…”

Shorter shakes his head.

“Nah man. You hit your head I think. You probly got a concussion now or some shit. I’m carrying you up.”

Ash only protests a little as Shorter scoops him up into his arms, before he chokes out in obvious pain, a strangled whine slipping past his lips as he buries his face against Shorter’s shoulder, his hands reaching up, fingers curling into the material of the older boy’s shirt.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Shorter asks, alarmed.

“… I think I g-got cracked ribs.” Ash answers after a long moment, his voice shaking and labored, like he’s out of breath.

Shorter’s lips seal in a hard line, mind buzzing.

Someone had done a real number on the kid. He’d take him to a hospital, but… those kinds of places didn’t usually work out good for kids like them.

“Alright. We’ll get you taken care of. Just… just hang tight, alright?”

Ash doesn’t answer, keeping his face to Shorter’s shoulder, and Shorter stands with him in his arms.

The kid doesn’t weigh anything. It’s fucking scary. Like carrying a bag of bones or something, Shorter thinks, as he makes his way carefully back up the stairs. 

Reaching the top, and he sees Nadia standing in her doorway again, looking down the hallway at him.

Her hand reaches up, covering her mouth in shock at the sight of what he’s carrying.

“Oh my God, is he…?”

Shorter shakes his head.

“He fell and hit his head. Got some cracked ribs too.” He tells her, walking forward. “I’m takin’ him to the bathroom. Can you help?”

“Of course!” Nadia quickly agrees. “I’ll get some fresh towels and a bowl of warm water.”

“Thanks sis.” Shorter nods.

It wasn’t exactly unusual for Ash to come around looking worse for wear. Looking like he’d been smacked around some. Though never quite this bad. Nadia was used to the kid looking fucked up. 

Whenever Ash was around, Nadia would inevitably take Shorter aside at some point and ask in a hushed voice “Is he alright?”.

Shorter would just shake his head.

They both knew Ash wasn’t. Not really. 

Kid didn’t have any kind of family that Shorter knew of. No real home.

And Ash hooked, Shorter knew. 

It was fucked up.

He’d seen him out there on the street a few times, standing around with the other whores, all of them women. Even seen Ash picked up a few times. Always these skeevy looking old men who’s car Ash would disappear into, and Shorter would feel sick to his stomach, and scared out of his mind that something bad was gonna happen to the kid.

Well… he guesses this counted as something bad.

Shorter had more than an inkling it was one of those old fucking pervs that messed Ash up like this, though how Shorter isn’t sure. Ash was a tough fucking kid. 

He walks slow, trying hard not to jostle the kid too much as he carries him to the small bathroom at the end of the hall, kicking the door open and carrying Ash inside.

“I’m gonna sit you on the toilet Ash. Think you can hold on a sec while I turn the lights on?”

“… Y-yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine.”

Ash doesn’t sound fine. He sounds sick.

Shorter presses his concern down though, needing to work.

“Just hang on. Hang on to the counter here Ash. I gotta flip the lights.”

He guides Ash’s hand to the counter after getting him on the toilet, making sure the kid’s got a solid grip before letting him go. Still he hesitates a moment, eyeing Ash closely before forcing himself away, striding back towards the door and switching the lights on.

“Fuck…” he hears Ash mutter behind him, turning back around to find the younger boy cringing away from the sudden brightness of the room.

In the harsh glare of the overhead light, Ash looks even more ragged.

Beyond the obvious and livid bruising marring his face, the dried, crusting blood around his nostrils and clotting at his split lip, the kid is also a filthy mess. His clothes are dirty with mud, torn and threadbare, holes ripped in the elbows of his hoodie and at the knees of his jeans. Even from across the room, Shorter can see the ugly scrapped skin, painful looking in how it blooms out, irritating the surrounding area. Like Ash had fallen along the pavement, again and again. 

That only seems confirmed when Shorter moves closer, kneeling in front of the kid and taking his hands, turning them over to find his palms scrapped up and bloody too, his blunt fingernails caked under with dirt and more blood still.

“What happened man?” Shorter asks, looking up at the younger boy.

Ash’s face is pale, sweat thick on his skin, dampening his mussy hair, his eyes glistening brightly, like he’s about to cry. Only no tears come.

Ash shrugs, turning his face away.

There’s a fine tremor working through his frame, and Shorter frowns.

“… Got beat up.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Who’s the fuck that did it?”

Ash’s expression goes tight, his eyes fixing on the wall to his right, not moving.

He doesn’t say anything.

Shorter’s about to ask again, when Nadia suddenly appears, stepping into the bathroom.

She’s carrying a bowl of fresh water, some towels tight between her elbow and ribs.

“Hey.” She greets quietly, setting the bowl down by the sink.

Shorter nods at her, and Ash’s head turns at last, his eyes falling over Nadia. For a moment, an expression flashes over Ash’s face which Shorter can’t read. Something almost like fear, before it’s gone, replaced by the younger boy’s usually stoic mask. 

“Hi Nadia.” He says weakly. “I’m sorry about this.”

Nadia smiles at Ash, shaking her head. Shorter can see the strain around the expression. She’s struggling not to cry.

“It’s alright Ash. Our door’s always open to you. You know that.”

Ash looks away, his hand coming up for a moment to cover his face, a harsh shudder working through him. 

“Ash?” Shorter starts, and Ash shakes his head.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Just… I’m just tired, I guess. Don’t feel so good…” 

His voice trails off, distant and brittle.

Shorter’s lips purse, glancing up at his sister. There’s a spasm of emotion over her features for a moment, before her expression hardens, her eyes taking on a steely determination.

“Ash, how about we get you out of those clothes, huh? I’ll go get you a fresh pair from Shorter’s room while Shorter here helps get you cleaned up. Okay?”

Ash doesn’t answer.

“That’s cool sis.” Shorter replies for him, giving her a knowing look.

She understands, he knows.

Ash got jumpy around adults. Even one as harmless as his sister. He wouldn’t want her here for this.

“I’ll be back in a little bit.” She says softly. “Shorter, you know where the first aid kit is, right?”

“Yeah, I got it sis.” 

She leaves without another word then, and Shorter waits until she’s closed the bathroom door behind her before turning back to Ash.

“… I gotta check you out, alright Ash?”

Ash swallows, his eyes flitting to Shorter before moving back to the wall.

“… Okay.”

“Alright, I’m just… gonna get this off you first.” Shorter tugs on the sleeve of Ash’s hoodie. “Yeah?”

He can feel the tension running through the younger boy, but he doesn’t say anything, just nodding stiffly in understanding, and Shorter tries to be as gentle as he can as he pulls the sweatshirt over Ash’s head and off.

Ash makes a small, pained noise as he does, but otherwise doesn’t protest.

He’s got nothing else on underneath the hoodie, and Shorter has to fight to keep in the curse which springs to his tongue as he takes in the kid’s state.

Ash’s whole body is beat to hell, the bruising covering almost the entirety of his torso, eating up the normally pale white of his skin, an awful mix of deep, angry black and red, blossoming out to blue near the edges. It’s especially bad running all up and down his left side. He’s gotta have cracked ribs at least, Shorter thinks with dismay. That on top of some seriously nasty looking abrasions and scraps and cuts.

It’s all made worse by how frail the kid looks.

Jesus, but he’s skinny. Ain’t got an ounce of fat on him, but ain’t got no muscle either. Looks like a stiff breeze might knock him on his ass, and Shorter finds himself wondering again how such a scrawny little kid could be this tough. 

He sets his jaw, forcing himself to stay quiet as he stands to find the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet.

Ash doesn’t say anything either, keeping his face turned away as Shorter comes back, kit and bowl of water in his hands.

“I’m gonna clean some of your scraps and bruises up first, kay?”

Ash nods, silent, and Shorter frowns, tearing his eyes away to prepare some alcohol swabs.

He’s angry. He’s fucking pissed. Whoever the hell it was that did this to Ash, Shorter swears he’s gonna find the fucker and kill him dead. Whoever it was. He just had to get Ash to tell him.

Unless it was one of Golzine’s men. 

That would be a problem then. If it was one of them bastards.

Fuck.

Shorter still didn’t know a whole lot about how it was Ash had gotten involved with a guy like Golzine, or even what his relationship to mob head was. All Shorter really knew was sometimes Ash would be gone for days, even weeks at a time, summoned to Golzine’s mansion up in New Jersey. Also that Ash was always in one hell of a foul mood whenever it was he finally came back to New York.

The contrast was weird as hell too. Golzine apparently liked to spend his wealth on Ash. Whenever the kid came back from the mob head’s compound, he had some expensive ass clothes he was carrying around, expensive jewelry. Ash always pawned the shit off, getting not even a quarter what it must have been worth. But Ash never seemed to care. He’d use the money to buy food and new shoes for his gang. The only thing Ash kept that Shorter knew came from Golzine was his reading glasses. He guesses ‘cause Ash didn’t really have a choice in that. He couldn’t read without ‘em. At least, not very well.

It was weird, ‘cause Ash didn’t have no money himself. He’d walk around in… well, the kind of shit he was wearing now. Clothes that were so cheap and old, they were falling apart at the seams. Shit he’d pick up in second hand shops with whatever cash he could scrap together. Shorter doesn’t know where all the money Ash got from hooking went. 

… Maybe to Golzine. Shorter doesn’t know. Ash never talks about any of it.

There’s tense silence filling the space as Shorter gets to work cleaning up the numerous scraps and cuts covering Ash’s body. Ash hisses and moans a little at the pain, but otherwise says nothing, his frame rigid as he holds himself as still as possible. 

It’s awful, and Shorter feels like he ain’t doing shit to really help as wipes the kid’s wounds clean with the warm water Nadia had brought, throwing one bloody swab after another into the trash. 

Eventually, he realizes, he’s gonna have to get Ash to take his pants off too, to see if there’s anything down there needing taken care of.

It’s obvious something’s going on, from the bloodstains Shorter can see, bleeding through the course denim. 

“Yo Ash, I… I gotta check downstairs man.” Shorter forces himself to say after he can’t stall any more. “You’re bleedin’ down there?”

Ash, somehow, stiffens more, for a moment curling in on himself. 

God… he’s just a kid. Just a little kid, Shorter thinks, his heart sinking. 

“… Yeah.” He hears Ash murmur softly.

In the next instant, he’s pushing himself up off the toilet seat, his hands shaking only a little as he undoes the button and fly of his pants and pushes them down past his hips, struggling a little as he steps out of them.

Just like he had nothing on under his hoodie, he ain’t wearing any underwear either, like he didn’t have time to get anything else on or something.

There’s blood. There’s _a lot_ of blood, running down the inside of the kid’s thighs. Shorter doesn’t need Ash to turn around to know where it’s coming from.

He feels sick to his stomach, having to look away a moment.

Looks like whoever it was that beat him up did more than just that. 

Fuck… _fuck_ …

Somehow, Ash looks even younger and scrawnier, standing there naked. His hips are so slim and bony. Fuck, he’s barely even got any pubes growing in. He looks more like he’s 12 than 14, and Shorter feels even sicker, thinking about all those fuckin’ pervs going after the kid. Who the fuck would want to do something like that to a little boy? What the fuck was wrong with people?

“… Listen, I think maybe, uh, maybe a shower, huh man? Let’s get you in the shower?”

Ash only nods, the movement slight and weak. He crosses his arms over his chest, face turning away.

Shorter holds in a sigh as he pushes himself up to his feet, averting his gaze away from Ash as he moves toward the shower stall. 

He can’t quite stop himself from glancing out of the corner of his eye though as he stands at the stall, testing the temperature of the water, catching a glimpse of Ash’s backside.

Fucking Christ, he’s torn up back there.

He really should bring Ash to a hospital, but he knows if he even suggests it, more likely than not, the kid’ll high tail it.

So he shoves the thought aside and helps Ash into the shower.

The younger boy’s movements are stiff and obviously pained, but he doesn’t protest or complain as he steps into the stall, under the spray.

“… Can I sit?” He asks after a moment.

“Yeah. Of course man. Do you need help?”

Ash shakes his head, his hand pressed against the wall as slowly he lowers himself down, until he’s sitting on his knees. A moment more, and he rocks gingerly back onto his bottom. His face is lined in discomfort, but he doesn’t make a sound, and Shorter wonders about how tough this kid is. It’s unbelievable.

He feels his heart sink.

It wasn’t fair. Kid shouldn’t _have_ to be that tough. Shouldn’t have had to go through any of this.

“Hey, you want some soap and a washcloth?” He asks by way of distraction. “I can go get…”

Ash shakes his head, and Shorter feels his voice die in his throat.

The bathroom falls silent then, only the sound of the shower’s spray bouncing off the stall to fill the space. Shorter moves to sit on the toilet, looking away from Ash.

“… I’m sorry Shorter.” Ash’s voice floats over to him after a little while. It sounds uneven and frail.

Something twists in Shorter’s chest, his eyes closing, before he forces himself to look back to the younger boy, forcing his lips into a smile.

“Hey man, it’s cool. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He doesn’t know what it was he expected, but it isn’t what happens then.

Ash turns his face away, towards the wall of the shower.

A harsh, broken sounding sob slips past his lips before he brings a hand up, pressing his palm against his mouth to stifle it.

Shorter blinks.

Ash is crying. 

His shoulders tremble with the force of it, and even with his hand against his mouth, small, high pitched whimpers break free, sounding painfully loud in the small space of the bathroom.

Shit…

 _Shit_ …

Ash didn’t cry. Not like this. He’d seen tears slip down the younger boy’s face. Silent and heartbreaking. He’s never seen Ash sob.

He doesn’t know what to do. For a moment, he can only sit there, staring in shock. He starts to stand, then sits again, and again back to his feet.

“Ash…”

“I’m fucked up…” Ash blurts, his voice a choking warble, strained and thin. “I’m s-sorry, I’m so… I’m so fucked up. I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”

“Ash, come on man. Don’t…”

Shorter starts towards him, crouching down at the edge of the stall.

“Hey…” he reaches a careful hand forward, laying his fingers gently along the younger boy’s shoulder.

Ash flinches hard at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. He brings his other hand up, covering the rest of his face behind it.

“… What the fuck did he do to you?” Shorter asks without really meaning to.

“… They.” 

“What?”

“They.” Ash stammers out. “There were a bunch of ‘em.”

Fuck…

Shorter should have known.

One guy wouldn’t be able to handle Ash. Not unless it was Golzine or one of his guys, when Ash would know better than to fight back.

“… Guy brought me up to his apartment. Just the one guy.” Ash starts again, and Shorter keeps his lips tight together, sickening dread blooming in the pit of his stomach. “Got there and he’s got four of his friends waiting up there. I… I said no way. I only agreed to the one guy. Told him… I told him I don’t do that gang bang sh-shit…”

Shorter brings his own hand to his mouth, biting down hard on the knuckles to keep himself quiet. His eyes burn.

“Stupid… I w-was stupid. I didn’t have my gun. I left it back… back at my place and… thought… ‘cause I needed to make some quick cash, one old perv I can handle. No b-big deal. I shouldn’t ‘a… shouldn’t ‘a let him talk me into going to his place. The f-fuck was I thinking?”

“It ain’t your fault Ash.” Shorter tries, struggling to keep his voice steady.

He doesn’t need Ash to continue to know what it is that happened now. 

He isn’t sure he wants to hear it anyway. But Ash keeps talking.

“F-fucker… those _fuckers_ …” Ash voice comes out clipped, angry and raw.

“Ash, you don’t gotta…”

“I cou… couldn’t get away Shorter. I… I tried. I tried to run, but they were on me before I c-could… and they pulled me back into that bastards place a… and there were five of ‘em and I couldn’t… Shorter… I couldn’t…”

“Ash, it’s okay. Jesus… hey… _hey_ …”

Shorter is only a little surprised when Ash turns suddenly, and in the next instant he’s got an armful of the kid, clinging desperately to him, his face pressing against Shorter’s chest.

Shorter doesn’t give a shit as he moves into the shower, his clothes soaking through in seconds. He clings back, cradling Ash against his chest as he wraps his arms around the younger boy’s skinny frame. 

Ash cries weakly against him, and Shorter can only hold on. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

This was so fucked. It was so fucked on so many levels.

“… I don’t wanna do this no more man. I don’t wanna do this.”

“You don’t have to Ash. You can quit. If you need cash, I can get Nadia to give you a job bussing tables or somethin’ here in the restaurant.”

“… Dino won’t let me stop.” Ash shakes his head against his chest. His voice sounds small. Helpless. Shorter hates it. He isn’t used to hearing Ash sound like that. “Gotta make… gotta make enough on the streets or he s-says… says it’s back to working at the club, and I don’t… I can’t go back there Shorter. L-least on the streets I can ch-choose who I sleep with. And those old fuckers at the club, those rich pricks, they… they’re fuckin’ twisted. The shit they do to us there… I can’t do that again. I can’t Shorter…”

“… I know.” Shorter says, and it isn’t enough. Of course it fucking isn’t. But he can’t think what else to say. 

Ash had never talked this much about any of this before. Had barely ever said a word about it. And now he had just confirmed to Shorter that Golzine was the one making him hook, and that was where the money was going. That was why Ash never had any cash of his own, despite being out there most nights…

Christ.

“Hey, l-listen… listen man, let’s just… just get you cleaned up and settled for now and we’ll… we’ll figure something out. Okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Ash doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Shorter can feel his fingers clutch tighter into the material of his clothes.

“… Okay.” He finally hears the kid whisper, and Shorter sags in relief, feeling a tension go out of him he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He has no idea how he was gonna help Ash out. Going up against Golzine was… 

It was fuckin’ impossible, really. 

But Shorter can’t worry about that right now.

Right now, he’s just gotta try and help his friend as best he can.

They stay like that for a while, Ash clinging to Shorter like his life depended on it while the spray of the shower head washed over the both of them, until finally Shorter’s knees started to ache too much, and he wriggled uncomfortably.

“You wanna get outta here?” He asks gently.

Ash shifts in his hold finally, pulling back. He keeps his face down, like he’s embarrassed or something.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice is rough from crying, but at least it seems like he’s stopped now.

“Hey man, it’s cool. You know. It’s just I gotta change out of these clothes, and Nadia’s probably put a fresh set outside the door for you already. So…”

“Yeah…”

Shorter shifts back, pushing himself up onto his feet and standing. He reaches down, offering his hand to Ash, and Ash takes it, letting the older boy pull him up.

The kid looks only marginally better, but at least the blood’s been washed off now, Shorter tries to assure himself. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Here’s a towel to dry off.” 

Ash takes it, mumbling out a thank you.

“I’m just gonna go check to see if my sister left clothes yet, and then I’ll let you get dressed.”

“… Okay.”

Shorter frowns, wishing there was something more he could do.

Ash looks exhausted, almost pitiful standing there, naked and sopping wet, the starkness of the bruising covering his face and body only the uglier with the blood and grime washed away.

Shorter forces himself to turn away, striding to the door and pulling it open. There’s a pile of clothes sitting just outside, and Shorter again silently thanks his sister for her reliability. 

It’s nothing fancy, of course. Just an old t-shirt that Shorter outgrew a few years back, which, looking at it, he can tell is still gonna be too big for Ash, and a pair of loose fitting sweats. Again, they’ll be too big, but hopefully they’ll do the trick for now.

“I’m just gonna leave these here, alright?” Shorter places the pile of clothes on the sink. “There’s some band-aids and Neosporin in the first aid kit you can use for those scraps on your knees and elbows and stuff.”

“Okay.” 

Shorter nods at the kid, before turning to leave. 

He’s just closing the door when he hears Ash’s voice softly behind.

“Thank you Shorter… F-for all this.”

Shorter forces a smile over his lips, turning to look back over his shoulder.

“Any time man. See you in a few minutes?”

Ash nods, his eyes still cast away.

Back out in the hallway, the door closed behind him, Shorter sags a moment against the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted.

That was… fuckin’ awful.

He can’t stop thinking about what Ash said. About what happened to him… 

He didn’t need to hear the details to know. Christ, he can’t even… can’t even begin to imagine what that would be like. What the kid must be feeling.

Shit…

He shakes his head, pushing off the wall as he tries to force his thoughts elsewhere, heading down the hall to his own room.

It’s a struggle to think of anything else though as he strips off his wet clothes, pulling on a pair of underwear and sweats.

A soft knock at the door draws his attention from his task, and he looks up to find Nadia in the doorway, leaned against the frame and arms crossed over her chest.

“… How is he?” She asks quietly, her voice laced with concern.

Shorter waves her into the room, telling her to close the door, and she complies without question.

He can’t keep the troubled look off his own face, he knows, as he falls hard onto his bed, squeezing the covers in his hands as he tries to figure out how much he should tell his sister.

“Shorter?” He hears her, alarm creeping into her voice.

He shakes his head.

“He’s not good.” He tells her at last, looking up to her. “Something happened to him. Something bad.”

The reluctance in Nadia’s eyes is obvious. The fear.

“… What?” She breathes out in a whisper.

Shorter bites the inside of his cheek, fingers squeezing tighter over the mattress.

“I think… I mean… I think he was…” 

He stops, feeling bile churn at the back of his throat at the thought, the words freezing on his tongue. 

Jesus Christ.

“Shorter, you’re scaring me. What happened to him?”

“… He was gang raped Nadia. By a group of five guys. They… some piece of shit lured him up to his apartment and had all his friends waiting there and they… they fuckin’ raped him.”

Nadia’s hands are pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, thick pools of tears welling fast and abrupt.

Shorter looks away, his face twisting in a mix of rage and pain.

“It’s fucked up. I know.”

“… Shorter, he…”

“He should go to the hospital, I know. But he won’t sis. He won’t do that.”

“… Shorter…”

“I know.”

“He’s just a _boy_.”

“I _know_.”

“Oh God…” Nadia turns from him, a tremor running through her shoulders as she begins to cry.

“Look, Nadia, just… don’t say anything to him about it, alright? He’s havin’ a hard enough time and… I mean, he’s a guy. He’s got his pride.”

“Yeah, o-of course. I’ll…” she sniffles, wiping at her eyes, her head shaking as if to clear her thoughts. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and whip up something for him to eat. I… should I bring it up here? I assume he’ll be sleeping in your room?”

“That’d be great sis. Thanks.”

She nods, but doesn’t turn around again, making her way silently from his room, leaving him to finish getting dressed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told her, he thinks. Nadia didn’t need to be exposed to the fucking shit show their lives were. She was a nice, normal girl. She’d never gotten mixed up in the life like he had, after their parents had died. She’d always kept to the straight and narrow. 

And Ash… Ash’s life was more fucked up than Shorter’s by a lot. 

The kid had never told him how he ended up on the streets. How he’d gotten involved with Golzine and the Union Course. 

Whatever the story was, Shorter thinks he’d be better off himself, not knowing.

A soft knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Yeah.” He calls, and the door pushes open, Ash appearing in the entryway.

He’s got one arm wrapped around his middle, his shoulders slouched, hair left mussed and uncombed. 

The clothes are way too big on him, predictably, swallowing up his rail thin frame, the sleeves and hem of the pants pooling well past his hands and feet. It would almost be funny, except nothing about any of this is funny.

“Hey.” Ash greets.

“Hey.” Shorter calls him in. “How you feelin’?” 

Ash shrugs, stepping into the room.

“… Alright.”

“Nadia’s makin’ some food downstairs, if you’re hungry. She said she’s gonna bring it up, so…” 

Shorter trails off as Ash leans over against the stand of drawers by his bed. He looks like he might be sick, a light tremor working up through his arms.

“Can I sit somewhere?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Yeah, shit… here, sit on my bed. I was gonna give it to you for the night anyway. Here…”

Shorter pats the mattress, and Ash hesitates a moment, before he stumbles over, falling heavily onto it.

“Thanks. I’m sorry, I just… I feel a little light headed.”

“You hit your head pretty hard when you fell on the stairs.” Shorter starts. “I think you’ve probably got a concussion.”

“… Yeah, I guess… One of those fuckers kicked me in the head too, I think. I can’t… can’t really remember everything, but…”

The kid’s voice trails off. He looks down at his hands, cupped in his lap. There’s band-aids slapped sloppily over his knuckles and fingers, and Shorter thinks he sees some peeking out from underneath Ash’s palms. He’s got a couple on each elbow too, and Shorter assumes his knees, where he’d been scratched up the most. That, and his feet, which are also covered in the strips. It looks like he must have used half the box.

“… How’d you get away from those fucks?” Shorter asks after a little while, unable to help himself.

If Ash hadn’t killed ‘em already, Shorter was going to.

Ash doesn’t answer for a long moment. So long, Shorter thinks he won’t at all.

“… They fell asleep. I snuck out and… and came here. I ran, I…”

There’s a painful, heavy silence then.

Shorter’s lips press tight together, looking away from the younger boy.

He can imagine it. 

Ash pulling his clothes on as quickly as possible, leaving his underwear, his socks and shoes because he didn’t have time to put them on. Because he had to just get away. Running barefoot on the pavement, tripping and falling in his panic and fear, because he’d been beaten and raped and couldn’t see straight because he’d been kicked in the head, tearing his hands and knees and elbows to shreds.

Ash’s pride is hurt, he knows. On top of all the other shit he must be going through. It must have hurt him to even admit he’d run. That he’d had to.

Shorter wants to tell him he’s got nothing to be ashamed of. None of this was his fault. And he’s just a kid. Just a 14 year old kid. He shouldn’t have to be able to fight off five fucking full grown men.

“… You wanna kill ‘em?” He asks instead. 

Ash’s arms come up around himself, his face turning away.

“… No.” He says, voice hardly a whisper.

And there it is. Another contradiction.

Ash knew how to kill a man. _Had_ killed men. Was fucking scary in how good he actually was at it. Almost professional.

Ash also never killed anyone unless he absolutely had to.

Even the fucking bastards that did shit like this to him.

Shorter had seen Ash cry after killing people. Had seen him crawl off by himself and sob like the boy he was.

Shorter’s about to tell Ash he’ll kill the fucks himself, but a knock at the door distracts him, a moment later Nadia poking her head through.

“Hey…” she starts quietly. “hope I’m not disturbing you guys. I have some soup and some heated up egg rolls. If you guys are hungry.”

“Yeah, great!” Shorter starts. “Come on in.”

Nadia is careful as she comes into the room, her footfalls light. She’s carrying a tray with the food, and a couple of Cokes, Shorter notices. She carries it over to the small desk pushed up against the wall opposite the bed, placing it down before turning to face the two boys.

She smiles tightly.

“Do you guys need anything else? Ash? Is there anything else I can get you?”

Ash shakes his head, a weak smile pulling over his lips.

“No ma’am, thank you.”

Hurt stands plain in Nadia’s eyes, over-bright even in the dim lighting of the room. But she doesn’t say anything, just like Shorter asked her not to. 

“Okay, then. I’m heading back to bed, but if you boys need anything, I’m just down the hall. Ash, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks Nadia.”

She nods, before silently stepping out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Shorter glances at Ash, and sees the younger boy eyeing the food on the table. 

Kid doesn’t look like he’s eaten in forever, and Shorter doesn’t hesitate to make his way over to the tray, picking it up and taking it to the bed.

“Here you go man.”

Ash swallows visibly, his tongue daring out to wet his lips.

He hesitates a moment longer, and Shorter holds the try out closer, trying to encourage him, until at last Ash takes up one of the steaming bowls of soup.

Once he starts to eat, it’s obvious he’s starving, scarfing down big spoonful’s of the stuff with scarcely a pause in between.

Shorter tries not to stare, his heart sinking.

He distracts himself by grabbing one of the cans of pop and pulling the tab, handing it to Ash.

“Here ya go.”

Ash pauses, glancing at the offered soda.

“Th-thanks…” he stammers, taking it from Shorter’s hand. 

Shorter watches as he knocks the can back, taking long, hard gulps of the stuff. It must sting, but Ash doesn’t seem to care.

Jesus… poor kid…

“… What Nadia said about you staying is true, ya know.” Shorter starts after a little while. “If you need a place to stay, you can crash here as long as you like. We’d be happy to have you.”

Ash has finally slowed down a little with his eating, and he sits silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the half empty bowl in his hands.

“… That’s really nice of you guys.” He finally says, voice almost too soft to hear. “Thanks.”

Shorter wants to press the issue. He wants to badger Ash into accepting the offer. Wants to make him understand that it’s true. That the kid could live here, if he wanted. Him and Nadia would be happy to have him. More than happy.

But he knows it wouldn’t matter.

Ash was a wild kid. He belonged out there on the streets. ‘Least, that was how Ash saw it. He wasn’t going to stay. 

He probably wasn’t even going to stay the whole night.

Shorter doesn’t want to think about that. 

Ash ends up finishing off his entire meal, and Shorter tells him he can have his too, if he wants, but Ash just shakes his head, his lids heavy with exhaustion.

“I can sleep on the floor…” he starts, but Shorter cuts him off quickly.

“Nah man. You take the bed. I got a sleeping bag I’ll use.”

Shorter doesn’t give him any more chance to argue, getting up from where he’s sitting on the mattress to go pull his sleeping bag out of the tiny closet at the other end of the room.

He can feel Ash’s eyes on him as he lays the roll out next to the bed frame, and when he looks up, Ash looks away, sliding the food tray onto the nightstand.

“You ready to hit the hay?” Shorter asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Shorter stands, striding across the room to hit the lights.

He can hear Ash rustling around behind him on the bed, pulling the covers back.

He smiles to himself, glad at least he was able to win one battle here.

The room goes dark, only the pale moonlight coming in through the window to illuminate anything, and Shorter squints his eyes as he makes his way to his sleeping bag, trying not to trip over anything on the way.

The shift and rustle of the sleeping bag sounds too loud in the otherwise silent room as Shorter maneuvers his way into it, trying to settle into a comfortable position, until finally he does, and the room goes quiet.

Maybe Ash already fell asleep, Shorter thinks, glancing up at the bed beside him. He can’t see Ash from his angle on the floor. 

It would be good if the kid could fall asleep quickly, he thinks.

“… Shorter?”

Guess that was too much to ask, Shorter thinks.

“Yeah?”

There’s a long pause. And then he hears Ash shift in the bed, and can see him over the edge of it as he leans forward.

“… Thanks, again. For everything. You’re a good person Shorter. Better than me.”

Shorter pushes himself up on his elbows, frowning.

“Nah man. I’m just doin’ what any friend would.”

He can see Ash shake his head.

“… I know you want to kill the guys.” He says quietly.

“… Yeah.” Shorter admits. “I’ll do it, even if you don’t want to be involved.”

“No Shorter. I don’t want you getting your hands dirty for me. Alright? I’ll be okay.”

“But Ash…”

“ _Please_ Shorter. Just… it’s done. Nothin’ we do to those guys is gonna change it now. And it’s… it’s my problem anyway. If anyone’s gonna take care of it, it should just be me. Please.”

Shorter hates this. He fuckin’ hates it. Ash shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of shit on his own. He shouldn’t have to deal with it at all. 

“I’m not gonna tell you who they are anyway Shorter. I… I shouldn’t have even told you what happened. That was shitty of me. I didn’t need to lay that on you.”

“Ash, come on man…” Shorter starts, a kind of horror unfolding in his chest as he listens to Ash blame himself. Listens to the kid act like he did something wrong for getting upset after he was just raped by a group of fucking perverts. 

“I’m alright. You’ve already done more than you should.”

Shorter wants to keep arguing, to tell Ash the hell with that garbage, he ain’t done shit. But Ash wouldn’t listen, he knows. 

Ash talked bad about himself all the time, and Shorter still couldn’t understand why.

“Let’s go to sleep now.” He hears Ash say, and then the younger boy turns from him, lying with his back to Shorter, falling silent and still.

Shorter knows that’s the end of the conversation. Knows Ash won’t answer him now, even if Shorter keeps trying to argue.

He exhales loudly, falling back onto his sleeping bag and turning on his side, resigned.

His own exhaustion is starting to remind him of the time again, his eyes feeling heavy as he lies there in the dark.

His thoughts swirl, bleeding together in a jumble of images.

Ash losing his balance and falling down the stairs. Hitting his head. Ash beaten to hell, bloodied and broken. Ash sobbing into his shoulder. Ash eating ravenously, half-starved…

His last thought, as consciousness quickly slipped from him, was a fruitless hope that Ash would still be there, come sunup. 

//

The bed is empty when Shorter wakes. The clothes Ash had borrowed folded neatly, left atop the made covers.

He doesn’t need to leave the room, doesn’t need to check out in the restaurant to know Ash is already gone.

He sighs, pushing himself up from his sleeping bag, silently dragging it back to his closet and tossing it in.

Ash would be alright, he tells himself as he leaves his room.

He can already hear Nadia downstairs, prepping the kitchen for the day’s business.

The kid was tougher than nails. 

He would be alright.

Ash would always be alright…


End file.
